Page 52 of Broken Blades

But I couldn't stop hearing his voice. Couldn't stop feeling his fingers against my temple. Couldn't stop my pulse from jumping every time I remembered the way he'd looked at me. The way he'd said our and we like I already belonged to him.

I hated him.

Truly hated him.

And yet⁠—

My heart was still racing.

Chapter 10

Wyatt

I woke at six. Habit, not necessity. Years of morning skates and five a.m. workouts had wired my body to reject sleep past dawn.

The house was silent. Empty-feeling. Exactly how I preferred it.

I rolled out of bed and headed downstairs, expecting solitude. Expecting to have the kitchen to myself for at least another hour while she hid in that guest room and pretended she could avoid the inevitable. She'd probably barricade herself in there. Sulk. Maybe refuse to go entirely and force me to drag her out kicking and screaming.

That would be inconvenient. But manageable.

I rounded the corner into the kitchen and stopped. She was already there. Standing near the counter. Back straight. Hands clasped in front of her like she was waiting to be called into a meeting. Dressed. Simple cream sweater that looked soft even from across the room. A skirt that hit just above her knees. Dark tights. Ankle boots. Hair down, falling in loose waves over her shoulders. Minimal makeup. Just enough to look polished. Not enough to look like she was trying too hard.

She looked... believable. Exactly what I'd told her to wear without being told explicitly.

Smart girl.

But something was off.

Her eyes had shadows underneath them. Dark smudges that no amount of concealer could fully hide. Her skin looked pale. Drawn. Like she'd spent the night staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping.

I grabbed a mug from the cabinet. Poured coffee. Let the silence stretch while I decided how to play this.

She didn't look at me. Kept her gaze fixed somewhere past my shoulder. On the window. The wall. Anywhere but my face.

Good.

Distance was easier.

Safer.

For both of us.

I took a sip. Black. No sugar. The bitterness grounded me. Sharpened my focus.

She shifted her weight. Fidgeted with her sleeves. Then caught herself and stopped.

Another tell.

She was nervous. Uncomfortable. Probably replaying last night in her head and hating every second of it.

I should have felt satisfied. This was the plan. Keep her off-balance. Keep her compliant. Use her presence to humiliate her father and destabilize the merger from the inside.

She took a breath. Not the shallow, panicked kind from last night when I'd touched her hair. This one was deeper. Steadier. The kind someone took when they were bracing themselves for impact. Not fear. Resolve. She was steeling herself. Preparing to walk into that café and perform exactly as instructed. No tantrums. No dramatics. No running back to Daddy. Just quiet, stubborn determination.

I respected that more than I should have. More than was safe.

I set the mug down. Let the ceramic clink against granite.